


I'm Sorry I Did Not Visit

by bbluejoseph



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Best Friends, Crushes, Family Loss, Grief/Mourning, Legend (Twenty One Pilots), M/M, Minor Character Death, Quarantine, Secret Crush, but thats what i had in mind when i wrote it, could be viewed as platonic, if u choose to interpret it that way, like. its a major theme, not graphic but yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbluejoseph/pseuds/bbluejoseph
Summary: He sounds so defeated that it makes Josh's heart clench."I was stupid to think he would get better."
Relationships: Josh Dun & Tyler Joseph, Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	I'm Sorry I Did Not Visit

It's just starting to get dark out when the phone rings. 

Josh hates talking on the phone, more than anything, but he loves the dark. Especially when it's like this, after the sun has gone down but before the moon has come up, and the sky is starting to slip. There's no stars, and everything becomes so vivid in that short period of time. The sky goes from a honey gold to the most beautiful blue, the loveliest blue Josh has ever seen. 

His window, the window in the bedroom he shares with his brother, faces west just so that when it gets deeply blue and the streetlights come on, Josh has a perfect view. It's his favorite thing about the house. He sits here, quiet, still, on the edge of the open window. The whole world seems to be holding its breath.

Josh instinctually holds his breath when the phone rings. Talking on the phone gives him a near crushing anxiety, so he usually lets someone else get it. Except, he knows this is different. He knows because he can feel it in his chest. Tyler was supposed to text him half an hour ago, because he always does; at least, he has since this whole mess started. It was a way for them both to keep a routine, of sorts. To grasp tightly to something normal. It pulled Josh away from spiraling thoughts, and pulled Tyler away from intense, invincible focus.

When the time came and went for Tyler to text him, Josh tried not to worry. He knows Tyler can get sucked into something, especially something creative, and tends to forget about the time. So he waited.

But now Tyler's calling him, he knows it before he's even picked up the phone. He throws himself into it so he won't stress: he answers the call with barely a glance, cradles the phone to his ear, and speaks before his voice gets a chance to back out. "Hello?"

A single rushed phrase comes over the phone. Tyler's voice is hushed, perhaps fearful. No, not fearful. Something else; Josh doesn't know what.

"We lost him."

Josh's mind sprints through the options. Who is 'we', and who was lost? He's confused for a few seconds before he latches on to a thought, a reminder of something Tyler had been worried about last week. He'd thought everything was alright now.

He doesn't really know what to say. "When?"

"Late last night," comes the reply. No, Tyler doesn't sound afraid. It's grief that's causing him to whisper. "He was getting better, and he just. He took a turn for the worse."

"I'm sorry," Josh says, because it's all he can think of. "Tyler, I'm so sorry."

"It was always going to happen." Tyler's voice raises, then falters again. He's not crying, no, but there's an ache in his voice. He sounds so defeated that it makes Josh's heart clench. "I was stupid to think he would get better."

"That's not true," Josh tells him. He stares intently at the roof of his neighbor's house, outlined black against the deep blue. It's only getting darker. 

"He was old. He was sick." Finally, Tyler's voice cracks, just a little. "Now he's not."

"Let me come over," he bursts out. He's not supposed to come over, not at all. Before this whole mess, Tyler's house was practically his second home. He wasn't banned for a hateful reason, he didn't do anything wrong. That's just how things work, now. Josh is allowed to stay home and occasionally walk the dog. That's it.

"You can't."

"I won't come in. I swear I won't." Josh is already getting up from his place by the window. He opens the tiny closet, grabs a jacket. "I'll stand in the driveway. You don't even have to come outside."

"Then what's the point?" Tyler says bitterly. "It's cold out tonight. Stay home."

"I can't," he admits. Tyler goes quiet. Josh puts his jacket on, ties his shoes, grabs the cloth mask his mother made him from its place on his nightstand.

"Fine. _Jesus_ , fine," Tyler says. Then he hangs up.

Josh wants to call him back, but he hates talking on the phone so fucking much, and he knows Tyler will be waiting for him when he gets there. He leaves the phone on his bed, shoves the mask in his pocket, and leaves his room.

For a brief moment, Josh is grateful that everyone turns in early these days. His parents are in their room, his father probably watching the news while his mother tries to distract herself with a book. Really, the only obstacle is Josh's siblings.

They're in the living room, watching some cartoon on TV that Josh doesn't recognize. He walks behind the couch, towards the back.

"Where are you going?" Abby asks, just as his hand touches the handle of the sliding glass door. He bites back a curse.

"I need some air," Josh says, which isn't a lie, not really. "Before it gets too dark out."

He waits for Abby to press further, for Jordan and Ashley to peer at him curiously, but none of them do. Exhaling, Josh opens the door as quietly as he can, and slips out into the dark.

It's brisk, but not unpleasant. Josh huffs, moves through the backyard to the gate. He knows there probably isn't anyone out tonight, not this late. All the restaurants are closed, all the bars and movie theaters and things that used to light up Main Street at night. There's nothing for anybody to do except wander. He puts his mask on anyway. 

He sees no one, just lights peeking out from shut blinds and curtains. Occasionally, he hears a dog bark, but that's all. No people out tonight. They'd have to be crazy.

Josh might be an oddball, but he's not crazy. He has to help Tyler, if he can. At the least, he needs to try.

There's no lights on when he arrives. Tyler has a whole room to himself, above the garage; Josh has always kinda envied him for it. There's only one window, and it's rather small, betraying no signs of life. Tyler used to keep a lamp on next to it, in the before, when Josh would come over after dinner. 

He aches to remember it, but he can't help looking up at the dark frame and thinking of the hours spent watching movies on Tyler's old TV, eating popcorn and throwing popcorn and maybe, if Josh was lucky, Tyler would lean into his shoulder.

This whole mess has ruined the blooming hope in Josh that Tyler might feel the same way that he did. Not that Tyler became hostile towards him once this all began, not that he acted indifferent or uninterested, but it was hard for Josh to try to get a feel for the situation if he wasn't there in person. He couldn't hold Tyler's hand or touch his knee or realize, embarrassed, that he'd been staring at his lips for far longer than most best friends did.

There are no lights on in Tyler's room, nor in the garage, but as he walks quietly up the driveway, he hears a soft click from the side door, and he knows Tyler is there.

He hears the back gate unlock, sees it swing open, and yes, there's Tyler. Josh hasn't seen him properly since... March? He thinks it was March. 

Tyler's never been one to take pictures of himself, much less send them to Josh, so he's almost startled that Tyler doesn't look exactly the same. There's dark circles under his eyes. His hair has gotten longer, maybe, messier for sure. He's wearing a flannel shirt and pajama pants; he must have been in bed, Josh realizes.

They stare at one another for a moment, silent, before Tyler takes a step back, then two, then more. Josh moves forward as he does, cautious, staying far away enough from Tyler so as to be safe, but close enough that he's within earshot. Once he's in the yard, he closes the gate behind him. 

Tyler looks weary. He looks worn. He looks like Josh feels, late in the afternoon, when he wonders if any of this is ever going to end.

"I feel like it was my fault."

Josh feels raw, like a wound he can't keep closed. He starts to speak, but Tyler interrupts him. 

"I know it wasn't my fault. I haven't seen him since March. I hadn't." Tyler's hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his pajama pants; his eyes are shiny enough for Josh to know Tyler's trying not to cry. "I feel selfish for feeling like it's my fault. Does that make any sense?"

Josh is quiet. Then, he exhales. "Yeah. Yeah, of course it does. I mean, I haven't been in this place before..."--he can't bear to think of what it will be like when he is--"but you're human. You want an explanation that makes sense. Something physical, I guess."

Tyler's shoulders sag. He leans against the garage like he's tired of standing. "I guess."

He's wearing a mask, too, so Josh can't see the lower half of his face. He wants to. He wants to see Tyler as he is, as himself. He blinks hard, once. "Tyler, have you been sleeping?"

Tyler flicks his gaze back up, and despite himself, Josh holds his breath. "Sort of."

Another pause. If this were any other situation, if Tyler were upset during normal times, Josh would hug him without hesitation, and Tyler would reciprocate. He always did. 

"What can I do?" Josh asks, soft.

He hears Tyler sigh, faint with the distance and masks between them. Then he says, "Be honest."

Josh makes himself look away from Tyler's sorrowful face, looks up at the sky. It's mostly black now. "Your grandpa was sick. Now he isn't."

Another sigh from Tyler, shakier than the last. "I hadn't seen him since March. The last time I was there, he didn't recognize me. _He didn't know who I was,_ Josh. He forgot my name. He forgot everything about me."

The pain in Tyler's voice, the root of his grief, is exposed from the earth. Josh waits.

"He didn't know me." Tyler says, looking at his shoes, like he's talking to himself. "Maybe it was... a mercy. He was sick. He couldn't remember stuff. He was depressed, and he was in pain."

"He isn't now," Josh promises, because it's true. "He won't ever be in pain again."

Tyler finally looks at the sky. He's quiet, and Josh is too. There's not much else to say.

It's only a matter of time, Josh knows, before this happens to him. Before someone he knows, be it a friend or a relative or a neighbor, is dead and gone. And he won't be able to see them go.

"I can't touch you," Tyler says, just barely driving away the anxiety in Josh's chest. He looks to Tyler, holds his breath again when he sees the look in his face. It's an ache, one he's felt so many times over the past months. Josh wants to hug him so bad it hurts.

"No." That one word is a whisper, a hushed admittance. 

So they don't touch each other. But when Josh finally leaves that night, sky black as coal above his head, he stops at the edge of the driveway and touches his chest, over his heart, because he is afraid to say 'I love you'. He is afraid, too, for a moment, that Tyler doesn't understand, but in the last few moments before he turns away, he sees his gesture reflected, slowly. A promise. 

Not tonight, not tomorrow. But eventually. 

**Author's Note:**

> god this fucking hurt to write but it HAD to be done. it's been lurking in the back of my head for a while now and i'm relieved to get it out. wear a mask or i'll throw your nipples to the wolves :)


End file.
